Mr Raines
by Stormy Grey Skies
Summary: He may not be a good teacher, but he still wasn't proud of himself for thinking of a student in that way. If anything, that just led to more lawsuits and tearful mothers calling him an evil perverted monster on television... aka Mr. Claude jerks off to guilty fantasies of a certain student. Slash, AU, Oneshot. Some language, and obviously fantasies of an underage.


"_Please,_ Mr. Raines! _Please!_ I didn't know the test was tomorrow until last period, and I _really _need to pass it!" The rich kid with the stupid hair was looking real desperate now, but Claude wasn't about to let him through the door.

"Sorry, kid. You know the rules. You were the one who got the stupid detention in the first place. You think I'm happy to be here, lookin' after your dumb little ass?" The kid looked crestfallen. Claude wasn't about to apologize – hell, he didn't even know why he gave a shit. He was gruff. That was just how he was. So what if a few people (the 'superiors') got a little butthurt about it, anyway?

"Well, can't I at _least_ use it to study? That detention's stupid, anyway. I wasn't even the one who started it! Bobby Martinson called me a fag 'cause I like sucking cock as much as I like boobs, so I decked him. It's not like I even broke his nose or anything. Plus, I only did it because he was starting to tease my buddy just for standin' next to me – come on, _please_?" So, maybe he hadn't been paying attention to all of those words (the kid just talked too damn much), but those huge pleading eyes were getting to him. Yes, even him. He must've taken the wrong coffee this morning, because he could actually feel that pleading gaze starting to affect him.

And he must've _really _eaten the wrong stolen break-room lunch, because it was starting to affect him the way that had him moving to sit behind his desk. He cleared his throat. He may not be a good teacher, but he still wasn't proud of himself for thinking of a student in _that way._ If anything, _that_ just led to more lawsuits and tearful mothers calling him an evil perverted monster on television, and he really needed this job. Didn't stop him from groaning under his breath as the boy followed him and put those hot hands all over him, but that was the stupid poodle's fault. (Yeah, he said it. Those stupid bangs, always falling into that face…). Why was the lad gripping so tightly to his knee, anyway? And why was that – _cute – _face looming so close to his crotch…was the kid really _kneeling?_

_Jailbait, I swear….and did he mention sucking cock, or am I finally losing it?_

He uncomfortably directed Peter up and away – hopefully subtly enough that his student thought it was just the act and not the raging hard on that made Claude uncomfortable – and cleared his throat yet again.

He half-remembered assenting in some half-assed weak-sounding way that wasn't like him _at all_, but he had a good excuse. He was way too distracted with his imagination, and the naughty little things it was drowning him with.

_Peter, bent over his desk with his delectable ass pushed out and seeking him. That stupid hair fisted in his hand so tight it pulled the boy's entire upper body up to arch back towards him. Himself, ramming into the moaning, shivering mess beneath him, curved down to whisper absolute filth in his lover's ear._

He gulped and felt his face heat. He realized he was staring at the young studying student in quite the lawsuit-worthy way, so he grabbed a nearby pencil and pretended to go back to grading papers. Thank God the lithe body in front of him was preoccupied with his fervent attempt at cramming information into that thick skull of his. That poodle-hair fell into his eyes as he placed the eraser end of his pencil thoughtfully just inbetween his lips, and Claude cursed under his breath.

_And he was sticking his tongue past those pretty lips, before Peter kissed a blazing trail down his body and stuck something _else _down his throat. Heavenly warmth, tight suction, and talented tongue surrounded him, and _fuck, _it was amazing. Of course, the boy's hair falls in his face and starts tickling the gap of him between kiss-swollen lips and pumping hand, as eyes wide and pumped full of desire peer up at his soul through lashes so long he's heard a girl or two lamenting about them for five minutes straight. And the boy winked up at him, pulled all the way back, licked his lips, and _fucking hell, _he was plunging straight into slick heat that engulfed his entire length, and _oh Jesus, _he was coming apart at the seams…_

He was now officially feeling the most fucked up he'd ever felt before in his life. And he'd once stolen Christmas decorations from a little old lady and her orphaned granddaughter, the one with the tiny little pink wheelchair. He dimly heard the sound of his pencil snapping, and saw his charge look up at him curiously out of the corner of his eye. But his senses were mostly impaired by the roaring lust racing through his veins and coiling in the pit of his stomach, so he wasn't even sure if he managed to murmur an excuse before dashing out of the room and making a beeline for the facilities.

Sitting on a toilet with a firm hand around his cock, he felt a strong sense of perversion and guilt. It was strong, but apparently not strong enough to stop him from jacking off to the imagined sound of Peter's voice, pleading him for something very _different_ than the right to study, sounding so desperately broken as it rang in his ears.

_He had his boy laid out in front of him, writhing and mewling uncontrollably, as did unspeakable things to him. His fingers and mouth were busy at work as his eyes greedily drank in the ravishing sight of Peter Petrelli unraveling in front of him, hands fisted at the sides of the cool surface of the table. He loved how responsive the poodle was – every little thing he did had his pup arching and surrendering in a beautiful show of sexual athleticism that sent his pulse thundering through his body. Oh, and the way he cried out – long and low keening – as if the sound were dragged out of him and the animal he'd reverted to…Claude wanted, and so he sank his teeth into that spot just above Peter's left hip. The moment his teeth touched smooth, pale, skin, the chit was screaming his name loud enough for everyone around to hear and his whole body was thrashing violently as he came and painted stripes across his precious chest._

He was soaring, flying through the most euphoric of highs, and it must've lasted for an eternity because it felt like he never had to come down again, but all too soon he was catching his breath in the middle of an empty bathroom. His vision was still off from his orgasm – and god, it must've been _something_, because he couldn't remember feeling this good from just his hand since he was first discovering the joys of masturbation. Then, of course, the guilt had to come rushing back over him as he realized _why. _He gulped, hard, and tried to blink back his own self-hatred as tugged his pants back on and wiped his own cum off himself with the too-rough-too-thin toilet paper that all public places seemed to share.

As he zipped himself up, he realized with a jolt of resigned sadness that this was not going to be the last time he brought himself to completion with the imagined taste of his student's skin on his lips.


End file.
